


A series of fortunate encounters

by Who_First



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Other, Porn With Plot, Really terrible humor, Spiral related shenanigans, Starts during episode 79, snowballs from there, sometimes just plot, tags will update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-23 05:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18147695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_First/pseuds/Who_First
Summary: Aka Why Tim Stoker is no longer allowed to leave the archives without a chaperone.Tim gets a support network. Kind of. It’s mostly made up of monsters that want to seduce him to their side. Tim’s in it for the sex and irritating Elias. Martin gets a headache.





	1. The Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> A series of connected ficlets (or larger) in which Tim accidentally and occasionally on purpose sleeps with avatars of every Entity. And possibly Entities. Not beta’d.

So Tim. 

Tim is petty. Petty and bitter and angry. He knows this. By now everyone who's had to work with him lately should know this. He’s not exactly been shy about it. But you should be afforded a bit of leeway when your boss starts stalking you outside of work.

And if before that you were busy being trapped inside a moldy old archive bearing stalked and eaten by worms. He had been a bit short and angry because of the stress, that’s all. 

Elias. Enough explained right there. 

Alright. In the back of his mind, Tim could admit he had  _ probably  _ burned through more leeway than a bit of stalking, and attempted parasitism allowed him. He’d certainly enjoyed such stalking in the past when it came from someone who wasn’t accusing him of murder. 

Then Jon apologized and for a moment Tim felt bad. Then the fear in the Archivist’s eyes connected and all he could think was ‘well shit’. Something terrible was about to happen that may or may not be the fault of his boss who couldn’t be bloody bothered to tell them. 

Clearly the best response was to act like he was obeying the boss and then sneak back around to take up spying himself. Jon wouldn’t expect actual consideration at this time anyway. 

Shuffling Martin toward the door like they were leaving was simple, Martin was simply too nice to fight Tim, coming back was even simpler as Martin wanted that.

Tim wasn’t really worried about being arrested or an inquest. Not completely. He wasn’t sure Jon had the spine for that. 

Which made Jon’s distant screams and the thing racing toward the archivists voice all the more alarming.

Not that either Tim nor Martin could place exactly where Jon’s screams were coming from as they were a bit busy running away themselves. 

“Was that… it kind of looked like…?” Martin panted. “All stretched out?”

“That’s not Sasha!”

Oh gods Tim hoped that wasn’t Sasha, maybe if he didn’t acknowledge Martin was right and if they stretched her out and added joints in the wrong place. It wasn’t Sasha.  It couldn’t be. 

And following it into the tunnels was a damn stupid idea, Martin. Not that Tim could say that if Jon ran into the tunnels he deserved what caught him… he really didn’t. 

_Well_ _fuck_. Martin was going into the tunnels. 

Then there was the man with knife for hands deciding he would kill them, a bit of panic with Martin trying to be threatening, and a door that only registered as ‘I will rip out my eyes before I ever look at that shade of yellow again’. Then they were racing through the open door. That was before Tim remembered there were no such yellow doors in the Archives. Elias would kill himself  if there were. 

In a very distant part of his brain, the part strictly for pettiness, Tim decided to paint all the doors in the Magnus Institute that particular shade of yellow if he lived. If Elias had a home, he’d paint those doors too.

Now there were more important things to worry about. Like the cheerfully yellow and flowered corridor stretching into infinity in front of Tim and Martin. 

A corridor, stretching out forever, wasn’t so different or unexpected given what they had already dealt with in the Archives. 

It was still preferable to the impossible not Sasha creature or the knife handed man they saw.

Alright it wasn’t. At all. There was little about being chased by monsters that was alright. Even less white Tim getting the sinking feeling they had done something Jon stupid. 

It didn’t help that the halls were moving. And swaying to strange music when he tried to focus on them. 

If Tim blinked and looked sideways he could see more corridors and doors popping in an out of existence at angles that made him.... It made his head hurt to think about and there was a dry quality to his nose that screamed blood was about to start dripping.

Martin didn’t look any better, complexion gone shallow, eyes wide enough to fall out of his head. Both of them only seemingly able to keep standing by their grip on the other. 

The recorder was off now, just after they had raced through the doorway into the hellishly cheery corridor, it had started screaming in electronic pain. It was remarkably easy to turn off then. 

“What do we do?” Martin looked behind them again, looking rather worried about the door they had entered through leaving without them, “The door is…”

“Gone. Right.” Tim looked back, taking a moment to swear at both Elias and Jon for getting him into this mess, but the doorway clearly did not exist as the corridor stretched behind them. “Let's… just start walking and find another door.”

“What…” 

“ _ Ahhh _ .” 

A sudden burst giggling, similar to nails on chalkboard, caused ears to start bleeding. More importantly, Martin and Tim froze against each other, neither wanting to be the first to acknowledge the thing behind them.

“ _ The mice have been trapped _ .” Nails on chalkboard laughed again. “ _ Look at the cute little things. So close to death so far from hope. _ ”

Tim turned first, pushing in front of Martin as he did so, and looked up. The creature was unfolding. New joints appearing and stretching as blond curls hit the ceiling of the corridors, before the curls seemed to reach past the ceiling. 

“ _ I think I can play with you now, the Archivist is busy. _ ” 

A head that might have been attached to a neck once long ago, possibly in a galaxy far away, shoved closer to Tim’s face. Close enough he could smell the complete lack of anything human in the creatures exhaled words. Good news, it didn’t stink of a charnel house either. 

“ _ There’s no one to stop me. _ ” It hummed and the fillings in Tim’s teeth started vibrating . “ _ You look like you’ll be fun. And amusing. _ ” 

They needed to distract it, somehow anyway, if they wanted to live. 

“Oh,” Martin shuddered against Tim’s side and back, feeling like he was trying to shrink down and hide in Tim’s smaller shadow, eyes fixed on the things hands. “Please don’t?”

And Tim, well hell, he knew the best way to distract most people. It used to come second nature. Before the whole stalking and destruction of his sanity. 

“ _ Please? _ ” The many teeth in that smile sharpened. “ _ But I want amusement. _ ”

The Eldritch abomination popped and stretched, blond curls the only static part of it. Well fuck. Tim could fake it. 

“Amusement? Well, Martin’s no good for that. Don’t waste your time,” Tim scoffed wetly, throwing all care to the wind. Either they died or not, there was no room for caring now. “I can help you though. You look like could use a good time.”

“Tim?” Martin’s voice shook and the earlier irradiation was coming back. “What?”

Tim didn’t look back, couldn’t,  look at Martin’s sad and confused eyes if he wanted this to work. Instead he pushed Martin off his side, harder than it looked when just watching the creature made Tim want to fall down and cover his eyes. One step forwards, and high buzzing filled his ears, making Tim almost stagger into the thing.

“What’s your name?” Tim asked, stretching arms out just enough to balance, and grinning back just as toothily at the monster. “I’m Tim, archival assistant, currently trapped in a dead end job I can only leave when dead and with a boss that stalks me. Once I was nearly worm food.”

“ _Hmmm_.” The head cocked like a bird again, and fingers stretched out lancing thin trails of burning pain through Tim’s left sleeve as they trailed by. _“I suppose names are useful. You can call me Michael...it’s a name_. _I said before,_ _but you were running. Poor desperate little assistants. It’s rude to run away.”_

“Michael?” Martin gasped, strait wing behind Tim and eyes narrowing. “Like the Michael that helped Sasha? Was that… do you know… was that thing up there Sasha?”

Tim resisted the urge to elbow the other assistant, and the creature’s attention focused on Martin. It appeared to sharpen and grow more angles than Tim was rightly comfortable with. Judging Martin’s hurried inhale it was more angles and points than either felt comfortable with. 

“ _ Well… _ ” An arm, probably an arm who could really tell with how ‘Michael’ bent and stretched, reached out, past Tim, towards Martin. “ _ It might have been not Sasha. _ ” 

“Hey. Leave him alone.” Tim snapped, grabbing the arm, possible arm, before it could reach Martin. 

Regret was sudden and blinding. 

Electricity sparked through Tim’s veins, hair standing stiff over his whole body, and limbs starting to shake. It felt like a dentist was taking a drill to his teeth and hot blood splashed down his face from his nose. 

“ _ Ahh so rude.”  _ Michael’s claws easily separated the fabric of Tim’s shirt as easily as they did the flesh underneath. “ _ You catch more victims with honey than anger. _ ” 

“But Sasha’s not here. She can’t amuse you either, right?” Tim was babbling now, just open mouth and let the words escape and hope that something made the thing hesitate. He could feel claws sinking under his skin, too smoothly, like they belonged there. 

“You look, you look like fun. I could use some fun, maybe get laid. What with the boss stalking me and the worms it’s been a while.” Tim cocked his head and smiled. It was a bit out of practice. “So how about it?”

“What? What! NO Tim!”

Fingers grasped at Tim’s shirt, feeling too distant for where Martin should be right behind him, but more importantly he had all of Michael’s attention focused on himself now. And it hurt. More than just touching it did. 

“ _ Really? With me? _ ” Teeth flashed and painful angles loomed closer. “ _ You’ll cut yourself little mouse.” _

“What’s a few cuts between friends.” Tim pulled the arm, _please_ _let_ _it_ _be_ _an_ _arm_ , he still had a hold of closer to his face. “If you make it worth my while.”

It, Michael, giggled, releasing Tim’s arm only to turn it’s clawed hand inwards to brush at the humans collar. 

It was like a paper cut. A paper cut filled with lightning and lies. A brief feeling of skin brushed over Tim’s neck, and then sharp pain for the smallest of cuts that hardly bled, but stung worse than cutting off a finger. 

The hand drew back, looking slightly more human, if one squinted and hoped, and red tipped digits were pressed into a cavernous mouth. 

Ok blood wasn’t Tim’s thing, but Michael was making quite the lovely moan as its tongue, just as sharp looking as his knife fingers, wrapped around the claws to gather up the droplets. 

Distatantly Martin was screaming something, with Tim’s name highly featured, but Tim was a bit busy succeeding at keeping Michael’s attention on himself. More important, the aforementioned moaning as Michael tasted his blood was making the remainder of his blood travel south rather quickly.

It made Tim a bit weak in the knees. 

Michael caught Tim before he could fall on his face, he was grateful, and started petting the humans sides. Tim was less grateful as his clothing was started tearing, but also just the tiniest bit turned on.

“ _You_ _taste_ … _good_.” Michael crooned, dragging Tim closer, claws scratching at all of Tim’s favorite spots. “ _Fear_ _and_ _blood_ … _desperation_.”

“Better than your last victim?” Oh that was all of Tim’s self preservation instinct jumping to its death from a high rise. He honestly remembered being able to flirt. Was he really so out of touch? “I did wash today.”

Michaels laughter screeched and ripped through the corridors like lightning. 

To the point Tim could see fractals of lightning strikes left in the air as the laughter faded. 

“ _ Come closer.” _

Tim… didn’t have a choice there. The hand and claws curling around his neck, dragged Tim closer to the abomination and- 

_ Oh bloody fucking hell there were now  _ claws  _ down his pants.  _

The claws didn’t pass go or bother to collect two hundred dollars as the Americans would say. They just appeared, between his cock and suddenly straining fabric. 

It was shocking. 

Literally, as static built and spread until Tim’s eyes were rolling in their sockets. Feelings zapping through his flesh, and a monster remembering being human once, too busy enjoying Tim’s desperate curses to stop it. 

A sharp finger brushed against his erection, making Tim’s eyes bulging in cold panic, with the sudden need to have those claws pointed elsewhere. 

Anywhere else. 

And Tim was still mostly leaning on Michael, so it was simple, sinking his teeth into what could have been bare skin or fabric. Even odds for both. 

Michael gasped, static and shocking, claws curling away perfectly as his hand tightened on Tim’s erection. 

And Tim’s vision went white and his pants sticky. Electric fingers crawling up his skin, claws shredding the back of Tim’s shirt and neck, unable to hear the words purred into his ear. All of it had Tim shuddering and desperate for a sanity check. 

Dropping to his knees was both normal, needed, and awkward. It didn’t matter his partners height, dropping to his knees would normally put Tim's mouth next to his partners parts. Tim liked oral, the wet folds of a woman that only rewarded perfect aim to the insane amount of too thin skin and salt of a man. 

Michael’s crotch might have been in front of Tim’s face. It also could have been a few feet above it. It was a bit hard to tell. 

Pawing at where there should have been sexual organs, connective tissue would also have been acceptable, there was something Tim could brush his hand over. He wasn’t sure what is was, possibly gathered static, but it made Michael stiffen and shudder. 

Skin and cloth shredded while Tim mouthed at the place he found that might have been fabric or skin. And Michael blurred in response, all limbs jerking where their points weren’t sunken into Tim. 

Then both human and creature were still. 

“ _ You…” _

A long pause, creature and human alike trying to catch their breath. 

“Are a good time?” Tim asked, head tilting, and teeth bared in display. 

Static drained away, space opening between Michael and Tim without either moving, corridor looking less stretched and oddly angled. 

Hands dropped, Tim had just enough energy left to jump, human fingers gripping his shoulders. 

“You idiot!” Martin shrieked in Tim’s ear, yanking him back further. “What were you you thinking?! What!”

“Well,” Tim drawled, limp in nice ways, head tilting looking backwards at Martin. “Sex is nice. Not dying is nice. Both is fantastic.”

“What. You-you’re….” Martin growled and Tim was proud of himself for causing Martin to resort to muttered curses. Polite muttered curses but it was an improvement. “Unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably brilliant.”

A cough of static had Martin dragging Tim to his feet, both staring at the creature watching them quietly. 

“ _ You made me miss watching the Archivist. _ ” It didn’t sound all that upset, merely put upon. “ _ I was hoping to see that. He could have died. _ ”

“But you had fun.” Tim was not fishing for compliments, no matter what Martin was swearing under his breath. Tim would allow Martin’s snide comments this time, as Martin was the only thing keeping him aloft,it was fair. “And we didn’t help Jon.”

“ _ I suppose. _ ” Michael didn’t droop, but his eyes were as sharp as his fingers as he glanced over Tim, before relaxing, or at least suddenly less pointed looking. Flashing his manic shark toothed grin. “ _ It was fun. _ ”

“Does that mean you’re letting us go?” Martin asked hopefully, squeaking a moment later as Tim’s elbow found his side. “I mean if you had fun?”

“Ignore Martin,” Tim’s voice was a bit slurred, a good time was had by all accept Martin who Tim couldn’t quite tell if he just wasn’t into voyeurism or if it was the monster. It was a coin toss really. “When are we leaving, will that thing still be out there?”

“ _ No. _ ” 

“No as in no monsters, or no leaving?”

“ _ It may be there. _ ” Michael’s edges sharpened in amusement. “ _ It may not. _ ”

“Meaning...what?” Tim was, well. “Look, I’m tired, itch in weird places and need a fuckton of bandages.”

“ _ Time… is a thing _ .” Michael blurred again, angles drawing back into almost human. If one squinted and was quite drunk. “ _ You leave when you leave. _ ”

“Does that mean no second dates?” Tim’s voice cracked on the joke and there was a shifting to his clothes that said Martin was trying to shake him without drawing the creature’s attention. Good try Martin, but Tim was on a fear induced flirting roll. “Way to let a guy down.”

“ _ Perhaps _ .” Michael looked down through blank eyes under the soft curls, then he grinned. It was the type of smile a shark would enjoy claiming. “ _ Go on little mice. The door is open. _ ”

“Oh thank goodness.” Martin was still unsuccessfully trying to hide behind Tim, allowing him to be the closest to the door opening where there had never been one before and would likely never be one again. “C’mon Tim.”

“It was fun.” Tim added, a bit stronger now. “Painfully exhilarating. Thanks for not killing us.”

“ _ Fun… hmm. _ ” Michael cocked his head further than possible for anything with a neck. “ _ Perhaps next time. _ ”

Then Martin yanked and Tim was through the door, which popped out of existence as soon as Tim’s feet passed the welcome mat. The mat was left behind. Tim gave it a quick glance as he caught his balance against Martin. It was an unfortunate shade of yellow with a smiling face that was uniquely painful to look at. 

He’d leave it for Elias to find.

Now normally Tim would be cursing the Institute and Elias and Jon for getting him stuck in this bloody mess. But there was enough dried blood around his nose, too many paper thin cuts burned, and it still felt like he was walking on two left feet. It was time to go home. 

Tim was vaguely aware that Martin had been talking, panicking really, as they left the corridors and hadn’t paused for breath yet. Something about the tape recorder Martin had taken away, Jon something, help something. 

Not enough of his blood had returned to his brain to care. And he was too loose and painfully comfortable to think about anger. It was easier to let Martin drag him along in his wake.

And there was Jon, brushing at his old man clothes and walking unsteadily to his closed office.

“Jon!” Martin cried in relief, “You’re alright!”

“Yes, yes, not now Martin-” Jon paused and whirled around looking horrified. “You’re both still here? I told you to leave!”

“When do we do everything you tell us too.” Tim yawned, oh look his ability to sarcasm properly was starting come back. “Well apart from Martin. I’ve decided to get Martin to rebel by the way. He really needs to.”

“Not now Tim,” Martin replied shaking Tim, then of course he had to brace the other man before he fell over. “Jon we heard that thing that look like Sasha! How did you get away from it? Are you alright?”

“Oh yes of course.” Jon’s eyes lit on Tim, looking terribly confused, then deciding not to ask. “I was saved by- Leitner.”

His eyes widened. And he stroad back to his office. Martin and Tim both watched in confusion, then Martin was moving and Tim was getting dragged along again. 

“Leitner? I’m sorry Jon, what? Leitner the author? Isn’t he dead?”

Jon pulled the door open, moving quickly with Martin and Tim at his heels, which meant when he stopped Martin was unable to keep from smashing into them, sending them all sprawling to the floor.

There was a long pause in which dark liquid continued to drip from a knocked over chair. 

“Well he’s certainly dead now.” Tim finally said. “Jon I don’t suppose you did that.”

“Oh..” Jon didn’t appear to be listening. In fact Tim thought he appeared to have checked out of his body. “Oh god. No, I need to-”

There was a mad scrambling as all three tried to get up at once. Martin won that easily, as the only one present with all of his faculties intact, and quite subtly kept the other two from getting up. 

“Jon calm down.” Martin’s voice was shaking but he had clearly decided to take charge. Good thing with how Tim currently felt and Jon looked. Which was terrible and like death hungover in that order. “Tim, take Jon into the other room and…” 

Martin paused long enough to remember Tim’s lack of mobility and to take in Jon’s head first dive into shock. In Tim’s opinion, Martin needed a long rest in a nice bed with absolutely no spooky business.

“Just… sit on him until I’m finished Tim.”

“Alright.” Tim eyed the body again and the pool of blood slowly reaching out toward him, and decided discretion might not be the better part of valor but getting his boss moving probably was. “C’mon boss. I think I have alcohol in my desk, we both need it. By the way, have you met Michael? Tall Eldritch abomination with knives for hands?”

“Oh. Michael? Yes… with the doors? He stabbed me.” 

Jon was shivering as they left the room. It was a bit hard to tell who was supporting who with how they were leaning against each other. They were similar in build and Martin didn’t think either should be left out of sight of a responsible adult. Sadly those didn’t exist in the Magnus Institute. One should never count Elias as responsible. 

About an hour later there was a bit of a commotion. During that hour, Martin had painfully and slowly dragged a dead body to the tunnels, and started cleaning up the blood of which there was rather a lot. He did pause in the tunnels, after dragging the man into a dusty side tunnel, to let the spiders know they should feel free to use the body if they wanted. It was when he was slowly cleaning the blood trail leading back to Jon’s office that he heard Jon’s voice raised uncomfortably high. 

“Hang on. Did you have sex with Michael?!”

“Oh yeah boss, he’s a good lay. I think he left his number in my skin.”

That was the exact moment Martin realized his life was over. He had the terrible feeling that making sure Jon was fed and not paranoid would be easier than keeping Tim away from yellow doors. 

Meanwhile: 

Elias contemplated his whiskey snifter with the careful, two fingers, measurement of top shelf alcohol swirling inside.

In the back of his head he could  _ feel _ the Spiral cackling. 

A quick twist of the wrist had Eli’s grabbing the bottle and pouring. Whiskey flowing into his glass until It resembled a beer, golden liquid spilling as he raised it to his lips and started drinking. 


	2. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no sex. I'm sorry but it just didn't happen DX This chapter is dedicated to Hanayou343 for the lovely comment and Nelja-in-English whose epic fics inspired me to use Oliver and how the heck he got back to England.

After the ‘Michael’ and NotSasha incident the entire Archive staff was given a weeks leave. Tim suspected Elias was trying to make sure Jon didn’t do anything stupid. Tim had been rather comfortable half sitting half sleeping on Jon while Martin made sure there was no body to be found in Jon’s office. It also meant that Tim had ringside seats to Jon’s paranoia and fear. 

Martin was then called over, after washing his hands, to deal with Jon. 

Tim just couldn’t. It hurt his head to even contemplate. Jon’s head had to be the most roundabout labyrinth and Tim was not taking the time to calm it to normal levels of ‘my boss might be a murderer’ paranoia. 

It still took Tim absently pointing out that Elias might know how Jon would react and be hoping for the Archivist to run away and drive further wedges between him and everyone else. What with how Elias didn’t feel the need to encourage anyone sharing information and also he was a manipulative arse. 

It was enough to make Jon pause, finally take the cuppa tea Martin had been trying to shove into his hands for the past ten minutes, and think. 

“Well.” Jon threw back his lukewarm tea like a shot. “We will contrive to not play into Elias’ hands.” Jon nodded and put down his tea cup turning to march towards the upper floors of the Archive. 

Martin’s eyes bulged and lunged, tripping over his feet, falling into place in front of Jon. 

“Though perhaps after a break.” Martin squeaked. “I think we all need some time off first. Best to rest and regroup.”

Tim, to busy still lounging and not wanting to move and reopen any of his too thin cuts, nodded absently and saluted Martin’s pained face.

“Sounds brilliant.” Tim grinned. “Want to draw lots for who tells Elias?”

There was a long moment of Martin staring flatly at Tim. Jon might have, possibly, snickered. Tim was going to guess it was the hysteria.

“I’ll talk with Elias.” Martin finally said, looking too annoyed to even be nervous, though that wouldn’t last. “You two… stay.”

“Yes sir, Boss.” Tim grinned again. “Think you’ve been demoted Jon, Martin’s the new boss now. Good for us.”

“Quite.” Jon looked briefly lost as Martin left the Archives. “I…”

“Boss.” Tim sat up, better to give Jon a long and unimpressed look. “Get the hell over here and cuddle. I’ll probably hate you again tomorrow. We should enjoy this.”

“Right.” Jon hesitated, clearly thought the name Elias, and stalked over to Tim. “Shove over.”

Clearly Tim was not the only person in the Archives that ran on pettiness.

What was most surprising is that they did get that vacation. Tim didn’t know what Martin said to Elias, or if Elias just waved him away, but it was the following Saturday and Tim still had an extra day before he was required to show up at the Archives. 

And that was why Tim was leaning over dock railing and watching the sea somewhere in western England he didn’t recall the name to with a pack of beer between his feet. And absolutely no other human around. 

Given that it was about 3 am the loneliness did make sense. 

It ended with Tim being the only person to watch as a tall black man was dragged through the water by something dark he couldn’t make out and left to climb the rickety old ladder stretching desperately out of the sea. 

Perhaps a few months ago Tim would have been running away by now. But It seemed rather pointless after NotSasha and Jane Prentiss. If the man wanted to kill him, he probably could before Tim could do anything about it. 

There was also the fact that Tim had enjoyed three beers in very short succession and while he was sure he could run, he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to try.

So there was a man dripping and slowly working his way up the old ladder until he collapsed face down on the pier with his feet hanging over the edge. 

After a few minutes, where Tim quietly sipped at his current beer, the waterlogged man rolled over and kicked at the railing and ladder enough to shove himself all the way onto the old pier. Worry lines on his face made him look older than he might have been, but also that he was tired, and had been either swimming or dragged through the ocean for some time.

“You want a beer?” Tim asked, foot nudging what was left closer to the sad wet mess of possibly human. “It’ll get the salt water taste out of your mouth.” 

The man’s eyes open slowly, momentously like in a proper horror movie, and Tim is treated to a sharp glance from two normal brown eyes. 

“If you don’t mind.” 

The man's voice was very hoarse, probably from too much swallowed sea water with a hint of too much screaming in his recent history.

“I’ve been told it isn’t healthy drinking alone.” By Martin. “Cheers.”

A hand reached out very slowly to take a bottle, dragging it back to the man as he awkwardly pushed up with his other. The bottle top flipped off without any sign of movement from the man. And now the street lamps seemed a but duller and the shadows started looking suspiciously deep.

“So…” Tim paused, in his head his Martin conscious was screaming  _ Don’t you dare Tim. Stop that right now _ . But Michael responded better when he was amused…how best do you amuse things that fed on fear?

“Are you an eldritch horror intent on killing humans?”

The man’s response was to snort his beer and unhappily put a hand to his nose as he started coughing. 

“I work for one and it wouldn’t be happy if you tried to kill me.” Tim continued languidly. A complete and utter lie if one remembered the look Elias gave Tim after the statement of the yellow door and the corpse that vanished. “And I gave you a beer.”

The hacking wet coughs died down, the man still looking rather normal and human, eyeing Tim over the arm he had been coughing into. 

“I don’t need to kill anyone.” He finally said, slowly rearranging his legs into a comfortable sitting position and taking a long pull after he made sure Tim wasn’t about to open his mouth again. “Everyone dies. Rather unstoppable that. Don’t need to do much do I.”

There were a few long pauses between the words, like the man was trying to remember how to breath, and Tim decided this was no conversation for standing. Moving a few steps closer, not really wanted but needed if he wanted to sit and still reach the unopened bottles, Tim sat heavily and leaned against the railing. 

“Don’t need to isn’t a no.” Tim observes.  _ Well hell now he sounds like Jon after a Statement, that’s enough of that.  _ “Sounds more like a yes, to me.”

“There was a boat.” A hand, the one with the beer, waved towards the water. “I made sure they reached their destination.”

A thoughtful pause, the wet stranger tilting his beer and chugging, and Tim thinking through a foggy haze. 

“Death?”

“By satellite.” 

“Was it painful?” Tim refused to think about colors that danced and screaming as flesh was peeled away. He was just sharing a beer a human abomination and he was not going to start crying. 

“Don’t think they had time to hurt.” The empty bottle was put aside sadly. “I was on the same boat. Don’t remember it. Just know it was a satellite.”

“Huh.” Tim thought about that, before drinking the last bit of his own beer. And then there were two left. “Suppose that’s better than some of the others.”

“You’ve run into many?”

“Work at the Magnus Institute.” Tim shrugged, dropping the bottle to his side. “Run into all sorts. Worms trying to eat me, boss stalking me, evil director knowing everything I do, and running into monsters.”

“Yeah I know them.” The man met Tim’s eyes before glancing pointedly at the last two beers between them. “You got a plan for those?”

Tim picked up one, arm stretching to meet the wet strangers, then pausing narrowed eyed.

“No killing tonight?”

“If you drown on your beer, it’s on yourself.” He shrugged and wiggled his fingers demanding. “I don’t see your death in the next few days.” 

“Fair enough.” Tim passed the bottle into the waiting hand, not bothering to hide his instinctive shiver at the cold fingers brushing his own, before grabbing the last for himself. The man was swimming in a cold ocean, of course his fingers would be cold, not just because he wasn’t human. “Think there’s a rule somewhere, Martin would know, about sharing names with a second drink. Tim.”

“Oliver.” The glass bottle was shrouded in darkness again and when it reappeared the top was gone. “You need help with yours?”

Tim had frozen watching as darkness open a beer bottle a second time. Oliver apparently decided to take his lack of answer as a positive. Tim could feel cold weight pressing lightly against his legs where they were stretched out and crawling upwards like veins of darkness.

He didn’t look down. That, Tim felt would be a worse mistake than agreeing to Jon’s request of joining the archives in the first place. Instead, his eyes locked on his fellow drinker’s darker eyes, Tim felt the thick cord of weight moving, slithering along his clothing and skin, until it crawled up his hand to the loosely held bottle. 

The metal top rang as it hit the pier. 

The shadows vanished. Or they vanished from Tim’s sight. Oliver’s eyes were moving sideways like they were watching things retreating into the shadows and the ocean lapping at the wood below them. Oliver seemed to feel the weight of Tim’s eyes and glanced back at him. After a moment the man smiled. 

He might actually have been worse than Jon at smiling. 

But Tim’s bottle was open, and suddenly quite chilled, and there was a few more important things than asking about something that didn’t seem in the mood to hurt him. 

“Right.” Tim sniffed at the bottle, just in case, before taking a thoughtful mouthful. “Thanks.”

“So how’d you get in with the Archives?” Oliver asked, he was rolling his neck as he did, with a series of painful sounding cracks. “You seem a bit off for them.”

The silence stretched, bottle against Tim’s lips as he stared at Oliver, unable process the words at first. Unable to respond to them.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Curious I suppose.” Oliver shrugged in response. “I know someone died. And if you can’t tell a stranger, who can you tell?”

The hand not holding the bottle waved again at the sea, fingers spread almost like they were wrapped around something thick and large.

The silence stretched and folded, Tim watching as Oliver’s empty hand twisted around whatever the other could see that Tim couldn’t make out. But...

“I saw my brother... after he was murdered by the Circus.” Tim let the bottle droop, not bothering taking the drink he had planned on, shivering in the cold sea air. “He was standing there in a  spotlight and that fucking clown ripped off his skin and it wasn’t Danny underneath. It was this fucking thing made of colors. So I went looking for answers. I’m going to find that fucking Circus. And I’m going to kill them.”

“Mmm.” Oliver took a pull of his beer, gazing out over the ocean. “I saw things in my dreams. Blackness wrapped around people about to die. Nothing I could do for ‘em. Tried to a couple times. Even went to the Archives. Then I started seeing it awake. All these people, knew how they’d die, couldn't do anything, couldn’t sleep. Tried to get away from it all, realized this was it for me, and got crushed by a bloody satellite.”

“But you got better?” Any other time Tim could laugh after those words. But Oliver looked human only up until he started petting invisible things.

“Dunno.” Oliver took another sip, glaring at his bottle as the beer lowered. “Feel alright. Not sure how I got back here.”

Tim’s response was a grunt. Life was shit. His beer was on the wood pier again and the man in front of him was still dripping while sipping at the other. And if he looked at Oliver from the corner of his eye he could see shadows wrapped around the man like a blanket. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Tim finally asked, the living blanket twitched at the question, but Oliver looked contemplative. “You’re soaked.”

Oliver hummed in the back of his throat. 

“Not cold.” Oliver snorted, teeth brilliantly white against his skin and the twisting shadows, as he grinned at Tim. “Could use something stronger than this. Hows about you take us back to your place.”

“I’ve got a room. Hotel.” Tim’s eyebrows raised. “Why should I take you?”

“Why’d you stick around?” Oliver flashed his teeth again, stretching and letting something pull him gently upwards. “Do something or don’t. Can’t live in the in between.” 

“And sometimes it helps to talk to a stranger.” Tim snarked. “Get it off my chest.”

“Oh yeah, that as well.” Oliver agreed sagely. “I’m dead, who am I to tell. I suppose other dead people.” 

Oliver trailed off with another pointed glance towards Tim’s remaining beer. One that was only missing a few sips. 

Tim’s response was curling his hand tight around the bottle and upending it in his mouth. Momentarily forgetting that breathing was required in his hurry to drink his own beer. It ended with Tim coughing up most of the drink an Oliver favoring him with particularly disappointed glance.

“Fuck off.” Tim gasped after the alcohol cleared his throat, leaving him with... well pain. But petty anger was most of his personality at this point. The part that wasn’t sarcasm, a very small part of Tim, stood up and glared at the world in general. 

Oliver in this case. Tim,  _ very happily _ , glared at Oliver with all his might as beer dripped out of his nose.

Perhaps, if Oliver wasn’t intrinsically bonded to an eldritch abomination, Tim would be able to run away. We all know that Tim could not actually be bothered to care if the other man was at all human at this point. 

“So?”

“Fuck off.” Tim repeated, still hacking up bits of beer as he coughed, hand wiping desperately at his eyes. In the back of his head, Tim wished Oliver was not in fact bonded to the eldritch abomination. Or at least not an abomination that was death itself. Death itself did not feel like being involved with regular people for the most part.

“You sound like me, before the trip.” Oliver laughed, but Tim could see the other’s eyes locked on Tim himself now that the bottle was empty. Or locked on Tim’s throat where drops of beer that had escaped his hand rolled downwards. “I went there to sleep. And I slept. It was amazing.” 

Oliver shuddered in what could have been pleasure. Dark eyes closed briefly, purring at his remembered, opening then to lock into Tim. 

Pushing away was harder than us should be, Tim choking again as he saw the dark things starting to curl around his feet. Bits of shadow and heavy weight patiently and slowly crawling their way up Tim’s legs. 

“Get your fuck-” Tim gasped, arms windmilling, trying to stop the tendrils slowly pulling him closer to Oliver. “Stop!”

“Like I said, I could use a bed for the night.” Oliver shrugged one last time, slowly getting to his feet as another dark ducking tenticle took shape to help Oliver up. “We’ve been getting along so far, why not share a bed?” 

“Get your own damn bed!” Tim had the terrible image of being strangled by a death snake appear in his skull. His next breath came shallow and tight. “And get the fuck off me!”

“I think my wallet sank in the pacific.” Oliver’s head tilted, mouth forming a pout, tutting at the veins holding Tim still. “Be nice gents. No money, no identification, could share a bed for the night. Be on our way in the morning.”

“It's not sharing if you take the bed and give nothing back.” Tim bared his teeth, hands gripping at the dark veins that had stopped moving around his chest, easily keeping him in place. 

But Oliver, standing now at full height a few inches above Tim, simply grinned in return. His teeth didn’t even have the decency to look sharp or mean; they simply looked like teeth peeking out from behind full lips twisted up in a wide smile. 

The smile made Tim freeze.

“I know how to kill the dancers. And the rest of the strangers’ creatures,” Oliver offered, smile still bland and friendly, while behind him veins lifted and waving in excitement. Both Oliver and his friends leaning close to drawl the next words.

“I know how they can be killed without the Stranger taking offense.”

Wind whistled as it past two un-moving figures and the cold wet dockside, high trilling notes as wet and dry hair rippled, neither breathing as softer note took a turn to fill the small space between them. 

“You can kill them?” 

“I know  _ how _ to kill them. The killing part would be up to you.” 

There was another pause with wind and drops of water hitting old wood filling the absence of sound. It ended as Oliver let his bones crack and vibrate, something else stretching inside the confines of a still human body, skin turning to pitch as skin bulged and changed. 

“But I can tell you. For a price.”

“Just my soul right?”

“Now what would I do with that?” Oliver snorted, looking fondly amused at Tim.

It was the same look Tim had seen Martin give Jon when the Archivist was being ‘adorable’. Tim did not appreciate any hint of comparison between Jon and himself. 

He was a hell of a lot hotter and more sane. No matter what Martin thought.

“Can’t eat a soul. Or sleep with one.” Oliver continued. “Nah. We want a bed, company, and stronger alcohol if you can find it.”

The emphasis on  _ we  _ was rather suspicious. But…

“One night? Sex, beer, and sleep?” Tim raised his eyebrows, deciding not to comment when the dark tendrils dragged him the rest of the way to Oliver. 

There was a thick strand of darkness patting his ass, he couldn’t comment and stay sane. 

“And in the morning I leave, alive? Same I was before and knowing how to kill the Circus’ fucking puppets?”

“Not completely the same as before.” Oliver leaned forwards, melding with the things wrapped around Tim, pressing a soft kiss to Tim’s bare cheek. “Hoping you’ll be unable to walk or talk for the next few days. Either one.... I’m easy, I’ll let you choose.”

“Easy is one word.” Tim snorted, those lips were wet and cold, but. “And we both go our separate ways in the morning, bruised and alive?”

“Alive.” Oliver’s grin turned predatory. “No death for you in the next week. Can promise anything after, you know. But… We’ll see in the morning if you want to leave.”

“Prove it.”

******

Time was a thing. It might be an incredibly fluid thing that didn’t flow properly among non human abominations, but time was still a thing, as Michael said. Tim didn’t actually care about time, whether it was working or not, he was satisfied and there was a hot person beside him. There were things still in bed with them, cold things, but Tim was okay with them at this point. 

Both of Oliver’s hands were wrapped around Tim’s chest and waist. It made talented fingers playing with his hair, all the more interesting, while the idea of a sun peaked in through the drawn curtains. Comfortable was Tim’s favorite word, followed quickly with please, and more. 

A shrill ringing cut through the peaceful morning. 

It took a few seconds to recognize it as a phone. Specifically Tim’s phone. He didn’t recall his ringtone being angry shrieking. 

“Hello, Tim the incredibly exhausted speaking. Make it quick.”

“Tim?” 

Oh dear. Tim contemplated hanging up, but Martin. Perhaps if Tim wasn’t overworked and stalked by all of his current bosses, he’d care more. But Martin and his sad eyes made a fantastic argument for staying far away from sanity. Empathy said this was great, even if everything else pointed out that Tim was rather touched in the head for trying to do anything for the Archives. At least the shrieking now made sense.

Also, a split second later, Tim remembered that any conversation with Martin would get back to Jon and hopefully Elias as well. That would make anymore awkwardness with Martin worthwhile, and Martin’s voice sounded worried, might as well respond.  

“Martin! What can I do for you?”

“It’s Monday.” Martin’s voice dropped like he was whispering. “You’re supposed to be at work.”

“Is it?” Tim looked at his bed mate, who currently had control of all the blankets, snoring, and still had his arms wrapped possibly around Tim. “ I swear it’s Sunday still.”

“Well it’s not.” There was some banging and sounds of cloth, then Martin’s voice returned. Sounding a bit more harried. “Tim, Elias was down, talking with Jon.”

“Did Jon give him hell?” Tim asked sitting up a bit, wincing as he did, shoving at the restraining hands for even that bit of movement. “I swear Jon was ready to do the opposite of anything Elias wants, last time I saw them. Also I like Jon again, mostly.”

“Tim!” Martin took an audible breath. “Elias was talking and then he just stopped.”

“The great Elias Bouchard knows how to stop talking? Shocking.” 

“Shut up Tim.” Martin paused, the silence long enough Tim was ready to hang up. “Elias stopped talking, went cross eyed, then he started cursing your name.” 

“That’s what I always wanted.” Tim grinned as Martin spluttered on the other end of the phone. “Thank you Martin, for making a good morning bloody fantastic.” 

“Tim! What are you doing? Elias sounded angry! He upended a bottle of whiskey into his teacup! There wasn’t even a bottle of whiskey before he was pouring it! And he stole Jon’s teacup!”

It was an easy guess what part of that explanation upset Martin the most. 

“Your phone is loud.” Oliver grumbled, moving just enough to crash his full weight like a wave of deathly blankets on top of Tim, shoving the other onto his back and knocking the still squawking cell out of his hand. “Go back to sleep.”

“Tim? Tim are you still there?” Martin’s voice echoed from somewhere below the bed. 

Tim was, at this point, more intent on the large and comfortable dead weight on top of himself, it’s not like he was going to get fired. And regrets could wait for later.

“Elias said he was going to get someone to talk with you! Tim? Are you still there?! This is serious Tim!”

“Sleep.” Oliver repeated, teeth latching onto Tim’s neck with the p sound.

“That’s work calling.” Tim gasped.

Cold breath and teeth both twisted. In the corner of the hotel room the doorway seemed to disappear under heavy shadows Tim could only see at an angle, not-fingers started playing with his hair again while definitely fingers dipped low beneath the blankets and skin. 

“I suppose it can wait till morning.”


End file.
